Writing Snippets

 

Late in the Mornings


I get to work late

most every morning.

I dance naked

in front of my full-length mirror.

 

Sometimes I dance hot and fiery

with wild abandon

to the passion of

the flamenco guitar.

 

Sometimes light and airy

to the exotic sounds

of trance music.

Sometimes I dance

flirtatiously

and sensually

to Arabian music.

Always, the music is loud.

 

Sometimes I dance

with Baby, my cockatoo,

on my shoulder.

Sometimes I accommodate

her presence

and restrict my movements

so she won’t fall.

Sometimes I don’t,

and she just has to hang on.

 

My morning dancing is

the most nonproductive,

apparently useless,

apparently vain,

apparently self-indulgent

thing I can do.

 

It is the most spirited

thing I do.

 

It reminds me who I was

before I started

“belonging”

to people.

 

It reminds me that,

ultimately,

I belong to myself.

I give exercise to the

flowing, graceful spirit

that is, sadly,

most times,

caged

and behaving properly.

 

Precious wild moments

out of the cage.

My dearest part,

play,

play wildly.

 

You are succinctly me.

My heartbeat.

My talent.

My beauty.

My grace.

Everything in me,

wild.

Everything in me,

free.

Caging hurts,

but must be.

You are not allowed to play

in front of others.

 

Be happy, most precious part,

I love you.

And will always

let you out.

 

I will be

late in the mornings,

and you will

dance wildly,

naked.

 

 

Flying


I often dream that I’m flying.

It is exhilarating.

 

In the dream,

I see people below me

walking around.

 

I tell them

to come and fly with me.

Without looking up,

they say,

“No one can fly.”

 

I tell them,

“Look up,

I’m flying.

You can fly too.”

 

But they won’t look up.

They just continue

to shake their heads, saying,

“No one can fly.”

 

I leave them

and continue flying,

going as fast and high

as I can.

 

Then, I wake up

and the same thing

happens in real life.

 

 

The Playground


We hold on tightly

to the monkey bars,

knowing

that if we fall

we will land

in a swamp full of alligators.

When we do fall,

we find it was

just soft sand.

 

Sometimes, when we swing,

we fall

hard.

We cry

hard.

 

Then we get up

and swing

again.

 

Some of us don’t

get back on the swing.

 

Sometimes, when we’re high

on the end of the seesaw,

the other guy gets off

and we bump to the ground.

Some of us get back on the seesaw,

wanting to feel that high spot again.

Others don’t.

 

Sometimes, someone pushes us on the swing.

Sometimes, we swing ourselves.

In both cases,

it’s possible to fall.

It’s also possible to swing very high

and spread our toes,

feeling the wind between them.

 

Sometimes, we play with other kids.

Sometimes, they hit us and run away.

Sometimes, they kiss us

and stay.

 

Sometimes, everyone on the playground

is mean.

Other times,

they’re nice.

 

Sometimes, it rains

and we have to go

home.

 

 

Coloring


If you find yourself

coloring outside the lines,

and if this makes you nervous,

make the lines wider.

 

 

Crap


I realized at one point that I have my crap and other people have theirs. When I came to this realization, it became immediately clear what was mine and what was theirs. I could actually see the crap line.

 

I decided that I would not cross that line, and I would not permit anyone else to cross the line either. I would not give them my crap and I would not take their crap.

 

Now, when someone tries to give me their crap, I refuse it. I have enough of my own. And every now and then, when I inadvertently try to give them mine, I immediately catch myself, apologize, and take mine back.

 

As it turns out, everybody’s crap is custom designed, and it doesn’t really fit well on other people.

 

 

The Dream


I had a dream.

The dream

gave me a bird’s-eye view

of the world

and its people.

 

From this distant,

higher view,

all the people

created one single,

beautiful, moving,

syncopated dance.

 

The rhythm of life flowed

through all of us.

We were dancing

to the same beat,

even though we were doing

different steps,

to give the dance life.

 

The people on the ground

thought

they were moving about

randomly

in massive chaos.

This was not true.

 

We thought

of ourselves as

bits

and

pieces.

None of us knew

how beautiful

we were

as a whole.

 

 

Hell


Spending time

writing

is like spending time

with 

the most

wonderful

lover.

 

Spending time

trying to get my book

published

is like jogging

in the hottest part of  hell

wearing a tight, itchy wool suit.

 

 

Standards


If you’re not getting enough

of what you want,

raise your standards.

 

You’ll get more.

 

Or,

lower your standards.

You’ll find

you have everything

you want.

Joe O'Hehir Design